Has Anyone Seen My Pants? (17 page)

“Well, hey, at least you added a month with each new relationship!” I said, laughing.

“Huh?” he asked blankly.

“Oh. Um, you said one was eight months, one nine, and the other ten . . . so I was just saying that each one gets a month longer.”

“Huh, I’d never even thought of that,” he said, very serious.

“Oh.”
Well, I caught it right away
.

We continued on with the dating talk, him telling me why each of his “long-term” (is eight to ten months really that “long-term”?) relationships had ended. I won’t bore you with the stories; for the most part it sounded like they just fizzled out.

“So how do you think this date is going?” he asked.

“What?”

“How’s this going?”

“Oh, I—fine. Good. It’s good.”

“Sorry, was that a weird thing to ask?”

“Kind of,” I admitted.

“Sorry. That’s just kind of my thing. Like when a girl doesn’t want to go on a second date with me, I always ask them why.”

“That’s weird. If someone doesn’t want to go on a second date with me, I don’t want to know why. I just assume it’s their problem . . . it’s more fun that way.”

“Oh, not me. I really like feedback,” he said enthusiastically.

Okay, so this guy definitely seemed a little strange, but it was kind of entertaining.

“All right, so what’s some of the ‘feedback’ you’ve received?” I asked, really wanting to know.

“Well, one girl told me she didn’t like that I’d been on Match for so long. One girl told me she thought I had a weird, creepy, low-talking voice, and another girl told me she just didn’t really like my face,” he said, smiling.

“Wow,” I laughed, “that last girl sounds a little mean. But you seem to take it all very well.”

“Yeah, I think it’s really interesting.”

Fuck. Now I was focused on his voice.
Why did he have to tell me that?

“Well, you certainly don’t have a creepy, low-talking voice,” I said, lying.

“Well, that’s good.”

It
was
very low-talking and maybe a little creepy. I needed to end the date so that I didn’t let it overwhelm me. We’d had some laughs and decent conversation; I didn’t want to get too focused on one thing because it might make me not want to go on a second date with him and I was trying to be more open, per my friends’ instructions.

“I should get going,” I told him. “It’s getting late.” I wasn’t lying. We had been there for three hours.

“You sure you don’t want to have one more drink? We’ve only had two.”

“No, I’m driving.”

“Fair enough.”

He walked me to my car and went in for a hug. “I’d like to do this again,” he said after he pulled back.

“Me too. Mostly because I don’t want you to ask me what’s wrong with you,” I teased.

He laughed and then went in for an awkward kiss. I didn’t open my mouth so it was just a weird peck on the lips, like what you give your grandma or something.

When I got home, I texted Tilley to let her know that the date was okay, that he was a little weird, but that I would go out with him again.

“Well, that’s better than nothing. I’m just relieved it wasn’t a disaster,” she responded.

“Not a disaster,” I wrote back.

“Good. Thomas and I were worried if you had a terrible date you’d fire us.”

“I can’t believe you don’t want to be fired.”

“No way. It’s so much fun.”

“You two are insane. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The next day I got a text from Robert, letting me know he had a good time and asking me how my day was.

“It’s good, thanks. How’s yours?”

“Great. So—about that second date. You around this weekend?”

“No, I have to go to Jacksonville for work,” I told him.

“Oh, cool. You doing shows there?”

“Yeah, I’ve never performed in Jacksonville before. You ever been there?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s terrible.”

“Great. I’m really looking forward to it now, thanks.”

“Haha, sorry.”

“I’m teasing,” I responded. “I’ll text you when I get back to see if we can meet up next week or something.”

I went off to Jacksonville that weekend to perform. It definitely isn’t the most exciting place in the world, but I had a good time. As much as I might complain about all the traveling I do for work, I actually love it. I always meet some fun people, whether they’re from the audience or they work at the club. And there’s never a lack of good old-fashioned people-watching.

I also always get out and wander the city a little. I’m very, very jealous of comedians who sleep in all day. I would love to do that. I’m just not a great sleeper. I work late and get
up early. This is probably why I need a lot of under-eye concealer.

“How’s Jacksonville?” a text from Robert inquired as I sat in my hotel room doing a crossword puzzle like an old lady.

“Amazing. Greatest city in the world,” I replied.

“I knew it. How’s the weather there?”

“It’s rainy and cold.”

“Ah, that sucks. It’s like ninety and sunny here,” he replied.

“That’s why I love California,” I replied. “How’s your day?” I asked, moving us on from weather conversation.

“It’s good. How’s yours?”

“Good. I’m just getting some work done right now.”

“Cool. So do you ever hook up with dudes when you’re on the road?”

Well, that escalated quickly,
I thought. Maybe I should have stuck with the weather conversation.

I looked at the phone for a minute, unsure how to respond. We barely knew each other. And despite my profession and the kind of my material I perform, I’m still a girl—and this felt like a weird area of questioning from someone I had been on one date with. So, I just responded with the truth (minus “Get that dick” guy).

“No. When I’m on the road I’m working. So I’m not really out meeting ‘dudes,’ ” I wrote back.

“Oh, that’s disappointing,” he replied. “I was hoping for something a little more lurid than that.”

Now I really had no idea how to respond. All I could think
about was his saying “lurid” in his creepy, low-talking voice. And I also decided that he was texting me pantsless, hoping to get some jerk-off material out of me.

So . . . I just didn’t respond at all. Later that night, he texted me again and just said to let him know when I was back in town. I didn’t respond to that either.

I know I promised to be more open, but his text totally turned me off. I ran it by Tilley, as I wanted her blessing to move on, which I received.

I never heard from Robert again. He obviously got the hint; he is a professional dater after all. But I’ve always been a little offended he never asked me what was wrong with him.

New Year’s . . . in Iowa

I
don’t really worry about New Year’s Eve because I don’t care much about celebrating it with anything more than a glass of champagne. It hasn’t ever been a big deal to me, thankfully, because I know it can be a big bummer to a lot of single people. I prefer to get stressed out over more important things when single, like filling out the “emergency contact” part of the form at the doctor’s office or worrying who is going to plan my funeral. But Christmas is the time of year that I can always take a real break without the worry of missing any work, because all of Hollywood shuts down until after the New Year, so during the upcoming 2013 holiday season, I was bound and determined to make sure I got my annual vacation in.

As I was Googling “safe places for a woman to vacation by herself without getting her head cut off,” an e-mail came in from my agent with an offer to work on New Year’s Eve.

Oh, thank God,
I thought as I clicked to open the e-mail.
I don’t have to find anywhere to go, I’ll turn wherever this offer
is into my vacation!
I’d done stand-up on New Year’s before and it’s usually a lot of fun. It’s a big night out for people and they’re in a celebratory mood. Plus, clubs offer a lot of money for you to work because they know they’re going to make it up in ticket and alcohol sales.

“Offer for NYE in Burlington, Iowa, at the PZAZZ! casino . . . ” the e-mail read.

I frowned.
Where the fuck is Burlington, Iowa? Where the fuck is Iowa?

I scanned down farther to see the money on the offer and decided that I’d probably be going to Burlington, Iowa, for New Year’s Eve. Then I scanned even further down to see that the offer was to co-headline with Josh Wolf and decided that I’d definitely be going to Burlington, Iowa, for New Year’s Eve.

Josh and I have been friends for about fifteen years. I didn’t know anything about Burlington, Iowa, or a casino that didn’t understand how to spell “Pizzazz,” but I figured this could be an entertaining way to spend New Year’s; the show was at eight o’clock and we only had to do one. We’d be free to hang out and wander around this weird casino afterward.
Plus
, I would be working, so I wouldn’t have to explain to anyone that I really don’t mind being alone on New Year’s. Seriously, I don’t. But other people look at you with such pity that they almost convince you there’s something wrong with you just because you don’t want to go out and deal with all the people who can’t handle their alcohol.

It reminds me of the time I was on the phone with my mom and I told her I went to the movies alone. She was baffled, worried.

“Don’t you have any friends out there?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“Yes, I have tons of friends out here, Mom. I just like going to the movies by myself sometimes. It’s nice.”

“Well. I don’t understand that.”

“Well, I could have gone with someone, and sometimes I do. But also sometimes I just like to go alone, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, even though I could tell she definitely did not think it was okay.

If any of you haven’t tried going to the movies alone, I suggest you do. It’s not like I do it because I’m single; I’ve gone to the movies alone when I’m in a relationship, too. It’s just a nice escape, time to zone out. Plus, nobody talks to you during the film, nobody puts their grubby hands in your popcorn, and nobody judges you for bringing in airplane bottles of vodka to spike your lemonade with.

Anyway, I texted Josh to confirm that he would be taking the New Year’s Eve gig.

“Definitely. Beth is going to come, too.”

A pang of disappointment hit me. Beth, Josh’s wife, is awesome. I love her. I might even like her more than I like Josh (unless you’re reading this, Josh, in which case I’m just saying that), but the second I realized he would be with his wife I felt very much like I was going to end up a third wheel.

“Okay, cool,” I lied. “But I’m obviously not bringing anyone to Burlington. So you guys have to let me hang out with you after the show, up until the point where you want to go do it, in which case I don’t expect to be invited.”

“Of course you’ll hang out with us, Beth already said for you not to worry about that . . .”

Ah, I love Beth. Even though she’s married, she knows how to think like a single woman and she knew I’d be concerned.

“I mean, have you looked that place up? It’s not like any of us are going anywhere else that night. It’s in the middle of nowhere,” he continued.

“I did look it up. And yes, we will be trapped there—probably under a few feet of snow.”

We both agreed that regardless of location, it was worth the money and might make for a good story. So now I just had to figure out the rest of my trip. As I looked at a map of the United States, because I really did need to remind myself where Iowa was, I realized that if I went to Arkansas for Christmas, which I had to or my mom would faint from sadness, I pretty much had to stay there through my birthday in order to get to Burlington on December 30 (the casino requested that I get in the night before in case of bad weather or delays). The only thing between Arkansas and Iowa was Missouri, and I had no intention of spending my birthday there. The only other logical thing I could see as an option for leaving Arkansas before my birthday was to get to the PZAZZ! casino even earlier and spend it there. But I would already have one night there alone
(Josh had somehow bullied them into letting him arrive the day of the show; apparently I need to be more aggressive), which I was kind of looking forward to after a week at my mom’s house and all the constant talking that goes on there. But two nights alone in Burlington sounded like a suicide mission. So I slowly accepted that for the first time in about sixteen years, I was going to have to spend my birthday in Arkansas.

Around this same time, I also received an invitation to my friend Evan’s wedding in Dallas, which would take place mid-January. Ugh, for someone who is okay with being single, my patience was really being tested. I definitely wanted to go to the wedding; I was never going to let the “I don’t have a date” excuse keep me from anything important or fun. But, even though he and I are close, I was pretty sure I didn’t know any of his friends. I imagined myself in Dallas, at the reception, at a table full of strangers, and I cringed. Could I do it?
Of course.
Did I want to? Not necessarily. I was invited with a “plus one,” with Evan encouraging me to bring a friend if I wanted to. He was aware that I wouldn’t know anyone at the reception, and we were both aware he probably wouldn’t be able to hang out with me the entire time, since it was his wedding and all. But it felt weird to drag a girlfriend to Dallas for a wedding.

I’m an adult,
I thought.
I can do this . . .

Then I remembered that a girl I’d made friends with over the past couple of years, Lacy, lived in Dallas. And she actually knew Evan, too.

 . . . But I don’t have to do this. I can bring Lacy!

I quickly texted Lacy and she was very excited to respond that yes, she would love to be my platonic wedding date. She’d had a baby just a few months prior, so she was looking forward to having a night out.

Problem solved.

Shortly after I settled my wedding-date dilemma, Josh texted me to let me know that Beth would no longer be joining him in Burlington.

“Why not?” I asked, now kind of disappointed because the three of us would have had a ton of fun.

“Because it’s Burlington. She loves me, but she’s not an idiot.”

“No, she’s not,” I wrote back, now excited again because I for sure wouldn’t be a third wheel. I know a couple sentences ago I was disappointed, you guys. Being single around the holidays can be a real emotional roller coaster.

My trip home for Christmas is always something I look forward to, because I do get to see all of my family—Mom, Eric, sister, nephew, aunts, uncles, cousins. (Three out of four of them are married with kids, the fourth is engaged, and I used to babysit all of them. Luckily, they’re smart enough not to ask me when I’m getting married.) I also always know that after about four days at my mom’s house with dial-up Internet and never enough alcohol, I get a little (extremely) antsy (bitchy)—and this time I was going to be there for eight whole days . . . turning thirty-nine, single, in my parents’ house.

The trip actually turned out to be really fun, as it usually does. I went to Christmas Eve service at my mom and Eric’s church, which I’ve been doing for the past several years. When I was in my twenties, I’d be bratty and not attend. There wasn’t a good reason for me to not want to go; I think I was just being defiant.
You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. I’
m an adult!
Then one year I decided to go and I saw how much it meant to my mom that I did. On top of that, I really, really enjoyed going. It’s the same church I went to when I was younger and it’s beautiful. At the end of the service, the choir sings “Silent Night” while everyone in the church passes a lit candle to the person next to them to light theirs. By the end of the service, the entire church is glowing with candles and I always cry, even when I’m not on my period. So now it’s something I look forward to. See? I have grown up a little.

After the service, we (my mom, stepdad, sister, and nephew) always watch a movie. I had brought some movie screeners that I’d gotten from the Writers Guild and Screen Actors Guild for “consideration” during award season. It always makes me feel super important to bring movies back home that aren’t out on DVD yet. Since my nephew was there, I suggested we watch
Captain Phillips
. It was PG-13 and suitable for the whole family. Also, I had already seen it and loved it, and was pretty sure they all would, too.

Unfortunately, my stepdad doesn’t have the best hearing, so he usually struggles a bit when we watch a movie at home. Closed-captioning is usually a lifesaver for him, but in the
case of
Captain Phillips
, not so much. He spent a lot of the time trying to understand what the pirates were saying, my mom spent a lot of time trying to tell him, and my sister and I spent a lot of time laughing at the situation. That is, until the end of the movie, when my sister and I cried our eyes out because
oh my God Tom Hanks is so good
. Don’t even get me started on my “I can’t believe Tom Hanks wasn’t nominated for an Oscar for
Captain Phillips
” rant right now because this book will take an ugly turn. Just know that I’m not fucking happy about his Oscar snub and if I knew who was responsible for it, that person and I would have a pretty serious conversation.

Anyway, as I looked around the living room that night, at my stepdad falling asleep in his recliner, my mom falling asleep in her spot on the couch with Elektra curled up in her lap, my nephew half watching the movie/half playing a game on his phone, and my sister curled up in a blanket crying, a big wave of happiness washed over me.

I’m not turning thirty-nine alone,
I reminded myself.
I have them
.

The rest of the trip was nice and smooth. My sister and I realized that we never do anything with just the two of us, so we went on a “sister date” to
Anchorman 2
, followed by dinner at our mutually favorite local restaurant. I got to spend a lot of time with my nephew and the new golf clubs I surprised him with for Christmas. We all went to a basketball game. I hung out with my cousins and their babies. And, because of where
my mom works, I attended a birthday party for one of her coworkers at the funeral home. Jealous?

The night of my birthday, the whole family went out to dinner. That used to be a pretty big number, but now that my cousins are married, it’s even bigger, so when we go out to dinner there are like twenty of us. It sounds like a hassle in my head and then I go and realize how awesome it is that everyone still gets together to celebrate one another’s birthdays. It’s that grown-up thing again, I guess. After dinner, I met a few friends out for drinks. It was all very nice but low-key, and when I woke up the next day to leave for Iowa, I realized I had managed to seamlessly turn thirty-nine.

O
nce I settled into my room at the PZAZZ! hotel and casino, I decided I would wander out into the casino, have a drink, and maybe play some blackjack. I could do whatever I wanted to! I was on my own! Hooray!

This casino was a disaster. It definitely wasn’t a Vegas casino—it was an Iowa casino. Although, I’m not sure one is better than the other. There was a permanent cloud of smoke hanging below the ceiling. The games all looked a little worn down, and so did the people. But I grew up in Arkansas. So this was my kind of place.

I had a fantasy of a steak dinner, so I wandered by the restaurant, only to find that it was a café and steak really was just a fantasy. So then I wandered up to the bar, ordered a drink,
and sat down at a
Wheel of Fortune
machine. I was just about to put a twenty-dollar bill in and go off when a guy approached me and asked if I was Sarah from
Chelsea Lately
.

“I am.” I smiled.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking confused.

“Oh, I’m performing here tomorrow night. You should come!”

“Oh, cool! Maybe I will!”

“Great! It’ll be a good show. Josh Wolf is performing, too.”

“Oh, awesome! Is he here?”

“No, he’ll be here tomorrow,” I said as I turned back to the
Wheel of Fortune
machine.

“Oh. So you’re alone?” he whispered.

My back straightened. I paused, trying to figure out how to respond to this semi-creepy question.

“Nope, my friend is in the room right now,” I lied.

“Oh,” he sighed. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed because he wanted to hang out, have sex, or kill me.

“I better go check on him,” I said as I jumped up and made a beeline for my room.

Look, I have no idea what this guy’s motives were. It could have just been a simple, harmless observation on his part that I was alone. But I wasn’t sticking around to find out.